


purple lilac, daffodil, sticky catchfly

by fangirl_squee



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Florists, M/M, extremely background samsam who are off screen but very happy and in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 02:47:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17417582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: (first emotion of love, new beginnings, invitation to dance)Samol's sons are out of town, so he has to deal with the front-of-house part of their florist. A repeat customer makes things interesting.





	purple lilac, daffodil, sticky catchfly

**Author's Note:**

> after that last episode I figured we could all use something light
> 
>  
> 
> thanks to maddie, for betaing

Samol sighed as the as the bell at the front of the shop chimed. It had been a quiet afternoon, mostly couriers doing pickups, and he preferred it that way. As much as he loved the flowers, he wasn't much for chatting about them to customers. He set down the bouquet he was putting together, and headed to the front counter. 

 

A man around Samol's age in a garish flamingo print shirt was leaning against the counter, wallet already in hand. A good sign, as far as Samol was concerned - it meant the guy was either in a rush and would pick whatever Samol suggested, or he already had a specific choice in mind. Either way, it would be a quick sale, and then he would leave. 

 

Samol cleared his throat. 

 

The man turned around, grin dissolving into surprise. “Oh! Sorry, it's just- you're not Samothes.”

 

“No, I'm not,” said Samol, “he's my son.”

 

“Sorry,” said the man again, “it's just, I usually deal with him to get all my arrangements.”

 

“Big orders are they?” said Samol, mentally running through order sheets. 

 

“Yeah, they- listen, is Samothes going to be in today? Not to be a pain, but my orders can get pretty specific…”

 

“I know,” said Samol, “I'm the one who makes them. If you want to wait for Samothes, you might want to come back, he's on his honeymoon for the next week.”

 

The man laughed. “Samot finally made an honest man out of him, huh? Well, that's great!”

 

“Mm.” Samol tapped his pen on the order sheet. 

 

“Wait, so, you make the orders?”

 

“I do,” said Samol, resisting the urge to rub his temples. “Did you want to place an order?”

 

“Yes, okay, so we need- wait, I wrote it down.” the man pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket. “Two dozen wreaths, nine pink and purple floral arrangements with no daisies, two arrangements of all daisies, and two of the big arrangements like the ones I ordered a few months ago with those big leaves, you know the ones? For the end of the week.”

 

“Don't have the peppercorn in stock for it to be exactly like those big arrangements,” said Samol, carefully noting down the rest of his order.

 

“As long as you have those big leaves.”

 

“Monstera. We have those.”

 

“The monsters, great,” said the man. 

 

Samol let out a long breath. “Right. For an order of this size we need-”

 

“Payment now,” said the man, “No problemo.”

 

“What name should the order be under, for delivery purposes?”

 

“You remember my order but not my name?”

 

Samol gave him a completely blank look. 

 

“Uh, Tristero is fine.”

 

“Right,” said Samol, “and your contact number?”

 

“That's very forward of you,” said Tristero. 

 

Samol's head snapped up. “What?”

 

“Probably easier if I just leave you my business card,” said Tristero, “that has all my contact details on it. If you need them.”

 

He slid the card across the counter, leaving two finger on it for a moment before he stepped back. Samol hadn't realised how far he'd been leaning over the counter. 

 

Samol cleared his throat. “Someone will call you when your order is ready for pickup.”

 

Tristero winked. “Looking forward to it!”

 

Samol let out a long breath after the door closed. He turned the business card over in his hands. 

 

Triste Family Funeral Home and Bereavement Services

_ Cremations, memorials, burial, wakes, burials at sea. _

 

Under the surprisingly tasteful picture of a wreath was Tristero’s name, phone, and email. Samot tapped his pen on the order page, then let out a breath. He stapled the business card to the order page.

 

No time for that. He had a big order to organise.

 

Samol called his usual suppliers, spending much of the next morning going back through Tristero’s previous orders to get a handle on what flowers to include. He seemed to prefer bright colours - sunflowers and sea holly, wreaths of hydrangeas, trailing centerpieces of bougainvilleas. He remembered enjoying those orders. Samol had nothing against roses, but it was nice to get to work with flowers and plants that you didn’t normally get to.

 

There were a few notes of feedback, written in Samothes's familiar scrawl on scraps of paper stapled to old orders, all of it positive. Well. At least the guy had good taste in flowers, despite his wardrobe choices. 

 

He was looking things over, deciding on a suitable replacement for the peppercorn (maidenhair fern, maybe, although it wouldn’t sit the same way…) when the bell chimed. Samol sighed, heading to the front.

 

It was Tristero. Today’s shirt was another print, swirls of palms with eye-searingly red macaws, his hair pushed back by a pair of enormous blue sunglasses. He smiled at Samol, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

 

“Order’s not ready yet,” said Samol.

 

“Yeah, no, I figured,” said Tristero, “but I was in a rush yesterday and I thought I should come back and properly introduce myself.”

 

“No need for that,” said Samol, “I already have your business card.”

 

“Oh, good,” said Tristero, “I thought maybe you’d lost it.”

 

“Lost it?”

 

“Well, you didn’t call me,” said Tristero, leaning on the counter.

 

“I haven’t finished your order yet,” said Samol, “no reason to call.”

 

Tristero frowned. “No reason at all?”

 

“No,” said Samol.

 

Tristero humed. “And I suppose you’re too busy for lunch? Or a cup of coffee?”

 

“Not really much of a coffee person,” said Samol, “and someone’s got to be here, with my sons away.”

 

‘Right,” said Tristero, “Of course.” He knocked on the table. “Well, perhaps I’ll see you some other time.”

 

“Probably when you come to pick up your order,” said Samol, “after I call you.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll bump into each other before that,” said Tristero.

 

Samol stared at the door after Tristero left. That was… a peculiar man. No need to read into the things he’d said. Probably best not to, in fact. He was getting too old to be reading into things like that.

 

He should have expected Tristero to return the next day. This time, his shirt was bright blue with tiny oranges on it, and he was carrying two take away cups - one a bright green smoothie and the other a large paper cup.

 

“Good morning!” said Tristero, “I thought you might need the pick me up!”

 

“I don’t drink coffee,” said Samol, “or whatever that other one is.”

 

“Apple fizz smoothie,” said Tristero, “and I thought as much. The tea’s for you.”

 

The outside of the paper cup was warm. Tristero’s fingers brushed his as Tristero handed him the cup. Samol steadfastly reminded himself not to read too much into things, no matter how deliberate they seemed. 

 

“I wasn’t sure how you took it, so I asked the guy at the counter and he recommended this chai,” said Tristero, “I hope it’s alright.”

 

Samol hummed, taking a small sip. It was lovely.

 

“It’s fine,” said Samol.

 

Tristero grinned. “Good! Now, since you’re taking a break-”

 

“I’m not.”

 

“I thought we could talk, you know, get to know one another,” continued Tristero.

 

“Do you chat with my son when you come in?”

 

“He’s not really my type,” said Tristero, “besides, I think he’s a little too head over heels for Samot to chat with anyone else.”

 

Despite his best efforts, Samol couldn’t supresss a smile. “He is.”

 

Tristero grinned, leaning his hip on the counter, into Samol’s space.

 

Samol let out a long breath. “Listen, I appreciate the tea.”

 

“Good!” said Tristero.

 

“But I think I’m a little too old for this.”

 

“Too old for love?” said Tristero, “Never. I’ll convince you every day if I have to.”

 

Samol huffed a laugh. “I don’t doubt it. But it’s not really practical of you.”

 

“Most good things aren’t.” Tristero’s face went serious. “Samol, ever since I have been coming here… I have always asked Samothes who made all these beautiful arrangements. And he would never tell me. And I have often wondered to myself, who could put together such beauty.” He paused. “I never expected them to be so handsome.”

 

“Tristero-”

 

“Besides, if you’re too old,  _ I’m _ too old, and that’s certainly not true,” said Tristero.

 

He put his hand, warm, over Samol’s.

 

“I don’t take a lot of time off,” said Samol.

 

Tristero grinned. “Neither do I. But I find that, when I want something, I can reorganise my time quite well.”

 

Samol tangled their fingers together, smiling at Tristero’s sharp intake of breath.

 

“Well, alright,” said Samol, “Maybe I’m not so old just yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi: mariusperkins on most places


End file.
